


Lazaretto

by tessdebelle



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Isolation, Quarantine, Smut, minor bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessdebelle/pseuds/tessdebelle
Summary: Two weeks in isolation with your partner and best friend. Quarantine is truly something else.
Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	Lazaretto

Bleary eyes invited Phil into the waking world, his entire body feeling sore and exhausted. Despite the fact that he knew he was in a bed and hadn’t been conscious previously, he somehow was bone-tired, feeling like every cell of his body needed a nice, long nap. Ah, the sensation of a drugged sleep never got old.

Getting to his feet sluggishly, he registered the bed he’d been on and the room, recognizing it after a minute. He was in a SHIELD safehouse – one he hadn’t been to in years, but familiar nevertheless. Comfortable rugs, soothing wood, most likely one of their cabins in the Canadian wilderness. A glance out the window showed rolling, snow covered hills. He ventured out of the room in search of answers, finding a note on the phone in Daisy’s handwriting: _listen to me!_

Pressing for the answering machine, Phil put the phone up to his ear and heard Jemma’s voice.

“Doctor Jemma Simmons, reporting on the status of Agents Phillip J. Coulson and Melinda…” She paused with a grimace and he heard her in the distance, talking to Daisy. “I can’t pronounce her middle name!” Jemma said in a clipped voice.

“It’s Qiaolian.” Daisy said in the background, her voice mellowed by distance.

“Shul-yin May.” Jemma said, absolutely butchering her pronunciation. “Please type in your badge number to proceed.” Tapping out the corresponding numbers, the phone made a tone before continuing with Jemma’s message. “After an encounter with a Professor of Bio-Mechanics, you and Agent May have been exposed to the Platecene Virus. As we have very little information about this virus, the two of you have been quarantined to SHIELD Safehouse S2J for the next two weeks.”

Looking around the cabin, Phil grimaced. There were a few other rooms – one of which, presumably, Melinda was in – a television, a kitchen, tables with stacks of board games and decks of cards, the classic quarantine setup. They were lucky they even had this, as the usual sterile lab setup was painful in comparison. “While we are studying the virus, the two of you should keep yourselves busy and monitor yourselves for any potential issues. We will be checking in for daily updates.”

The phone clicked off and Phil placed it down, tapping his fingers with annoyance against the granite counter. _Quarantine_. He hadn’t been stuck in a quarantine since… ’06? With Clint, what a nightmare. At least with Melinda the idea of quarantine seemed dealable. She was calm and could handle this – no one was able to calm her down like she could.

That wasn’t conducive to their current situation, so Phil pushed the thought away. He and Melinda had slowly been getting closer, in some different way closer than they’d once been. They’d always been partners, sure, but lately it was like something different was between them. But stuck in a cabin together for two weeks? He didn’t know if even the best friendship could handle that.

The real question was if she’d cut out his tongue to keep him from talking, or just kill him and be done with it.

Exploring the kitchen, Phil found everything they would need for the quarantine and started on eggs. They must have woken up from a drugged sleep, he figured, so that the quarantine would be in place by the time they woke. Melinda was likely still sleeping it off, and he figured she’d be grumpy when she woke up – the least he could do was make her her favorite breakfast. He recalled them on an op in Paris once and her trying half of his and loving it – the Croque Madame Sandwich had become one of his best recipes after that, purely because of the look she had when he made it. Good, hearty bread, ham and cheese, topped with bechamel and a fried egg – it was one of Melinda’s few weaknesses, and something he’d never tell anyone about since he so enjoyed being the one to make it for her.

As he stuck two sandwiches into the oven to broil and set his timer, he heard noises in one of the rooms. Grabbing for the nearest handy weapon, Phil held it at his side, unsure if someone had entered the cabin or Melinda had just woken. He approached the room where noise had come from with caution, opening the door to find Melinda in a fighting pose that immediately relaxed upon seeing him.

Before he could fight the reaction, he softened seeing her still groggy and sleep-tousled. Her hair was a messy halo framing her face, stray and sweat-dampened strands stuck to her forehead. Pajamas clinging to her frame, she was almost comical in a fighting pose. She was barefoot, too – he loved seeing her barefoot, how tiny she was next to him when she didn’t have her trademark boots. “What happened?” She asked in an even tone that was almost perfect, except he caught the notes of sleepiness clinging to her voice.

“We’re under quarantine. Two weeks.” Phil said, watching Melinda’s face crease with annoyance at his words. It was, of course, incredibly frustrating. Both of them focused so hard on work that being away from it made them uncomfortable. And even without that, Melinda’s preferences for action and attack meant that fighting a potential illness was stressful. “Some virus might have infected us, so we’re stuck here. But I made breakfast.”

A hint of a smile crossed her face as Melinda went into the kitchen. Phil followed after her – pointedly not noting the tiny pajama shorts she wore – and went to the stove. He cracked in the eggs to go with their sandwiches and finished frying them just as his timer went off and he removed them. With burnished tops and melted cheese, they smelled divine. Topping them with the eggs, Phil put the two sandwiches on plates and watched Melinda dig in before he even thought about starting on his. Her smile was bright and contagious, no matter how small it was.

“God, two weeks is going to be hell.” She murmured, stabbing at a piece of bread. Despite her words, Phil felt sure she wasn’t that annoyed. Were she actually annoyed at their situation – or at him – she’d have simply made tea and retreated to her room. Instead, she stayed, taking their plates and doing the dishes while he put away the ingredients. Like they did in a fight, the two of them worked in sync, finishing at the same time. He turned around just as she did and was face to face with her. His face coloring, Melinda smirked at him and brushed past, her fingers dancing over his before she went to the bookshelves to scour for a good novel.

Two days in, and they’d already reached a routine. Phil wasn’t sure if that was good, since it was a sign they were handling things well, or bad, because it meant that they would get bored faster. She returned to her Tai Chi routine, and he usually woke up some time during it, his internal clock still stuck on believing he had to wake up early. He’d watch her as he made breakfast, as well as his customary cup of coffee and her mug of tea. Breakfast was eaten silently, in front of the massive window overlooking snow-peaked mountains. It was lovely, calm, soothing. At times, he found himself wishing that it would never end.

And, at times, he found himself nearly screaming in frustration.

After breakfast they would go into catching up on what work they could, and this was what led to frustration. The programs he used for his files and paperwork weren’t available on the small, low-power laptop, so he couldn’t actually get much work done. If he were a different man, he might’ve been able to be happy with this and enjoy a vacation, but it only made his frustration mount. Several times he slammed the computer closed in annoyance when it crashed because it just couldn’t handle the programs.

Melinda’s frustration wasn’t as obvious, but he could sense it seething beneath her skin. She’d made a makeshift punching bag out of a couch cushion, determined to practice, but it wasn’t balanced correctly and he’d seen her get knocked to the ground more than once because it swung back as much as she could swing at it. He’d learned from the first time that he shouldn’t laugh when she fell over.

Lunch was usually a thrown together sandwich or salad, taken separately. One of the most important tips for quarantine stability when with another person was distance – you could easily get sick of someone else and having that distance helped to keep relationships healthy.

Despite this, Phil felt like he wanted to be around her. Now that he had the time and clarity of mind to think about it, he found himself happier when she was simply in the room. She could be across the room, reading a book as he did a crossword, or stretching while he did his paperwork, but for whatever reason, he felt… More at peace when she was around.

Evenings were spent actually together, doing some kind of activity. The first three nights, she’d flat out refused to play any board games with him. She’d claimed they were too old for board games, but he was pretty sure it was because he knew how frustrated she got when she was sent to jail in monopoly. They started out playing Poker, and then Blackjack, and then moving onto movies. The TV had an extensive number of movies, although it took them a while to settle on one. In the end, a Drew Barrymore romantic comedy caught both their attention. A sweet story about an old popstar reminded them both of their high school years, and she laughed at him as he danced around the living room, reenacting a dance that had been all the rage his senior year.

After an evening of movies and games, they’d send separate health reports. So far, Phil wasn’t exhibiting any affects to the virus, and Melinda hadn’t claimed to be showing any. It was a good sign, but certainly not enough to convince Jemma that the quarantine was unnecessary.

Just under a week into the quarantine, Phil woke up to a scream. He jolted awake in bed, scrambling up and away from his sheets. Or, at least, attempting to. With his hand removed, he instead tumbled against the pillows, the phantom limb not doing him any good. It took him a moment to realize, after his thrumming heart had calmed, that it was his own scream he’d heard. Before he could even properly cool himself down, Melinda had kicked down his door, in a fighting stance, expecting to see that he’d been attacked.

“It’s okay.” He said, his voice raspy from a scream. He tried to put his hand up to calm her, but once again forgot that it wasn’t _his_ hand. It was when he woke up that he forgot most about the amputation, memories blending together and convincing him that his arm didn’t stop in a cool, metal stump. He lowered it, glancing at the charging appendage as Melinda came closer to the bed.

She sat on the edge, as if poised to flee at a moment’s notice. “Nightmares?” She asked.

When he looked into Melinda’s eyes, he saw his own pain reflected. She’d suffered more pain than anyone he knew, but he couldn’t remember hearing her screaming from nightmares. She was stronger than him, but he knew she had to have them – he’d gotten up late at night before and found her in the early hours of the morning, cradling a cup of tea in her palms, her eyes looking haunted and far away. He nodded tentatively.

Not one for touching hands, Melinda instead rested her hand on his forearm, digging her nails into his skin. Far from hurting, the sensation grounded him, helping his racing heart to return to its normal beating. “Thank you.” He said.

Giving him a slightly pained smile, Melinda nodded, getting up from the bed. Her hand left his arm, leaving a cool sensation and robbing him of her warmth. “You don’t have to go.” He said softly, catching her wrist.

A look of panic crossed her face as Melinda saw his hand on her, and he immediately removed it. Before the Framework, Phil hadn’t known every detail of Bahrain. Now, he understood the powers the young Inhuman had had, and it explained everything. Why Melinda flinched around children where she had once smiled at them, and why she was so reluctant for skin-to-skin contact. Holding hands, touching, reminded her of that girl. “But you also can.” He said, after a second. “I’m not ordering you to, I just – I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

Her body moved like water as she slid under his sheets, gently pushing Phil to lay down on his back. “Good, because if you ordered me to I definitely wouldn’t listen.” She remarked, curling her body softly against his side. She laid her palm on his chest, just over his heart. Taking a chance, he laid his hand atop hers, fingers stroking hers. They fell asleep together, and his nightmares shifted into dreams of blankets of dark hair and rivers of ice.

When he awoke, Phil was surprised to find Melinda was still asleep in his arms. He craned his neck, trying to see the clock without waking her, and finding it to be just after ten. Either she had slept through Tai Chi, or she’d gone back to sleep after it – to sleep in his arms. He smiled down at her, at how calm her face looked as she slept. Her eyes darted back and forth behind her lids, oblivious to the world in her heavy sleep, and she looked years younger. She always looked young, but it was clearer now without the strain of exhaustion and trauma pulling at her skin just how beautiful she was. Dark hair spilled across his chest and the sheets – at some point it had slipped out of her ponytail and now was pressed to his nose. He pulled in the scent of jasmine and lemon with a hint of sweat.

Phil considered going back to sleep, but his body didn’t feel tired, for once. Just… complacent. Happy. Or, he would have been, had Melinda not started wriggling. She seemed to have woken up, though she tucked her head beneath his chin, reluctant to open her eyes. “You’re staring.”

A clever quip could have come to his lips, or perhaps a jibe at her still cuddled up to him, but instead he said, “It’s easy to stare when there’s someone like you to stare at.”

Melinda made a tiny huff in the back of her throat, but stayed in his arms for a moment before getting up. She slipped out of bed to brush her teeth, and he did the same, smiling at her in the mirror as they did. It felt… Domestic. Easy. When did it get so easy to wake up beside her? When did it start feeling like this was his natural state?

When they’d started this quarantine, Jemma had warned him about being quarantined and how difficult it was to be around one person for such an extended period of time. Phil had believed her, of course, though he’d figured it would mostly come down to Melinda being annoyed by him. But instead they were just… Complicated. Being in such an enclosed space with her, only seeing her, and seeing her so comfortable and casual made him feel _things_. Things he had thought were buried long ago and tucked into the back of his mind, only to be drug up at moments where either of them were in danger. Thoughts of how much he wanted this to be their always and not just their sometimes.

As time progressed, Phil began to dread returning to their normal routines, their normal lives. He felt antsy at the thought of going back to just being normal colleagues when all he wanted was to stay here with her, and that was a scary realization. Phil’s feelings for her had always been obvious to him – but when did it become so strong? Before, he’d been content to let them go, and let those feelings make him better in the field with her. Now, it just wasn’t enough.

With only two days left of the quarantine, Melinda had cracked open a bottle of wine they’d found stashed in the house’s basement. Phil poured two glasses, the rich red liquid burning his throat as he drank, and Melinda relaxed against him. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders with a lazy comfort. “How are you feeling about leaving?” Melinda asked him quietly.

Phil looked down at her, seeing Melinda’s dark eyes focused on the glass in her hand. Her warped reflection in the glass’s shape stared at him, and he found himself unsure on how to really respond. “Part of me is glad for it. I have no idea how the team is holding up without us.”

Melinda let out a soft snort, drinking a sip of her wine and sitting up properly, looking at him. “And the other part?”

Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why did they have so many duties past their own feelings? “The other part has really enjoyed time with you. Just you.”

Avoiding her eyes, Phil sipped his wine, the confession tasting bitter on his lips. He was good at speaking, good at communicating, good at tricking others with words, but when it came to Melinda he was absolutely tongue-tied, his stomach in knots at the very thought of her. So much of his feelings were pent up that he feared they might burst out and scare her with their intensity. “I didn’t realize how much I missed just… Being with you while neither of us are dying.”

Melinda smiled softly and nodded, setting down her glass. “Do you ever think about it?” She asked him.

“What?” Phil looked up at her, finding Melinda’s face far closer than he’d remembered.

She looked at him, a guarded expression on her face. “If we did this all the time? Lived in a house like this, made dinner every night-“

“You mean _I_ would make dinner every night?” She gave him a withering expression. “Sure. I mean… If it didn’t end after this quarantine?”

Phil’s thumb scratched at the stem of the glass, trying to give himself time to think about her question. Time to take it as something other than what he desperately wanted. “Do you mean like… If we were together?”

Melinda’s eyes were downcast, and Phil tilted her chin up to look at him properly. “I think about that every day.” He murmured. Melinda’s eyes were locked into his and before he could properly question what they were doing, if it was even a good idea, her soft lips were pressed to his, effectively quieting both their doubts.

His hand coming up to cradle her head as his other wound into her hair, Phil moaned into the kiss. She tasted like tea, with a hint of spice, and he couldn’t get enough. They’d kissed before, but only on ops as a couple – it was never real, and it never felt as raw as this did. Neither of them were playing a role or waiting for a bystander to stop looking, and – at least for the moment – it wasn’t focused, practiced, or planned. It was artless beauty. He twisted his mouth in sync with hers, and laughed softly as their noses bumped together. “Do you think if we were together it would be like that?” He asked, his breath having gone slightly husky from her kisses. Her pupils were blown and her cheeks were flushed pink. His hand was tangled in her silky hair, thumb stroking at the little spot just beneath her ear that he knew was sensitive.

“I think it would be more like this.” Without anymore preamble, Melinda had climbed onto his lap, pushing him back against the couch and putting her knees on either side of him. Like this, her head was above his and he could look up at her. They kissed again, this time deeper and with more eagerness, more impatience obvious in their hurried lips. He quickly got distracted, though, by her long, pale neck. Pressing kisses to it, he sucked gently, intent on marking her. They’d be out of quarantine soon, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the base something to gossip about.

Panting as he pressed tiny kisses along her collarbone, tugging at her shirt to get more access, Phil said, “I think I could be amenable if this is our together.” He murmured. Melinda’s hand, which had found its way into his cropped hair, tightened and he looked up at her, realizing his words and what they implied.

The two of them stopped, but remained close together, arms locked around each other and panting softly. “We don’t have to talk about this now.” He said. “It can be… Whatever you want. If it’s just this, that’s fine. If you want to forget it, we can go back and just play scrabble. If you want… _More_ , then I’m ready for it.” Pressing his forehead against her shoulder, Phil said, “I just want you to know how I feel about you.”

“I’m better with actions than words, Phil.” Melinda said, slipping away and standing, pulling him up with her. “So why don’t you join me in my bed and give me a demonstration?”

His smirk was wide as he followed her into the bedroom, unable to keep his eyes off of her shapely legs as he walked behind her. Melinda sat on the bed and Phil leaned over her, pressing her against the soft sheets as he kissed her. His hand wound around her neck, just beneath her chin. He held no intention to harm her, or even to play with interrupting her passage of oxygen – at least, not without extensive discussion of such things – but he wanted to hold her, to care for her, to show her with hands and lips and tongue that he wanted her to be his as much as he was hers.

In response, Melinda wrapped a leg around his hips, grinding up into his quickly hardening cock. They pushed up onto the bed until her head was on the pillow and her shirt had bunched up beneath her breasts. Melinda looked at him mischievously and, before he could comment, she had them flipped. Phil was on his back, and Melinda was pulling off her shirt, revealing a simple bra and her toned stomach. He noticed the scars that covered her skin and traced the one on her shoulder that he’d patched up. “I wanted to kiss you so much that day.” He murmured as Melinda’s hand joined his. “You were angry and scared at it was my fault but all I wanted was to kiss you.”

“You should have.” She retorted, tugging at his shirt and pulling it off with firm but gentle hands. She stroked over his chest, nails just barely scraping over his skin and – gratefully – avoiding the scar in the center of it. He was comfortable with her seeing it, but touching it was a different story. They had time, plenty of it. He didn’t want to spoil this moment by thinking about his death.

Returning to kissing – they really were quite good at that – Phil held her hips and encouraged her to rock against him, sliding his clothed cock over her covered entrance. “We’re wearing… Way too many layers.” He grunted, pushing himself up against her harder. She made the most delectable noises. Even before Bahrain, Melinda had been quiet, but now? Every gasp and whimper was loud enough that it was practically short-circuiting his mind, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t cum before he could get inside her. The very thought of being inside her already had him throbbing.

Focusing on unhooking her bra rather than the way she was moving over him, Phil rolled his eyes at the knowing look on her face. “Don’t start.” He said, fumbling with it for a few seconds before getting the hooks undone. “These things wouldn’t be a problem if you wore bras less, you know. I think I prefer you without them.” He said, filling his hands with her breasts and turning her smirk into a look of pure pleasure. Pulling her up towards him, he took her nipple between his teeth, tugging experimentally and making her cry out. Her back arching and reminding him of just how flexible his partner was, Phil grinned against her skin, moving to kiss over more of her chest.

His hand ran over her stomach, tracing thin white scars until he reached the hem of her leggings. He tugged them down, leaving her in just a pair of black panties. Melinda, pulling back, smirked at him and drug his mouth back to hers, kissing him hard as she tugged at his pants. He’d mostly worn sweats during this time in quarantine, and he was grateful for it as his usual suit pants or jeans would have been a hassle to remove. Instead, she slipped them off with ease and grace, his boxers and her underwear as the only barrier between them.

“You’re sure about this?” Phil asked, cupping her head with careful fingers. Fooling around was one thing – they could back away from this now and forget it had ever happened, and – while he’d fantasize about it the rest of his life – it wouldn’t do them any harm. If they kept going, though, it might change everything.

She kissed his neck, sucking at his pulse point until he groaned. “I’ve been sure about this for a while, Phil. Although I won’t be so sure about it if there isn’t a condom around here somewhere.” She teased.

“Shit.” Phil swore, glancing around. “I think I have a pack in my room.” He said, looking over her body and groaning as he did. He really didn’t want to leave her at the moment. She looked absolutely delectable. “Promise not to get started without me?” He asked, giving her a grin.

“Only if you don’t take too long.” Melinda said with a wink as Phil left the bed. Wearing just his boxers, and walking awkwardly with his erection, Phil prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that the condoms he’d seen weren’t out of date. Digging through the bag, he found a box and returned to Melinda’s room.

The sight that greeted him practically had his mouth watering. Melinda had removed her last garment and was on her back now, back arched as she teased herself. Two fingers were just barely inside her body while her thumb teased her clit. Her shoulders still rested on the bed, but her back and legs were up, her agility on full display and giving him far too many ideas.

Removing his boxers, Phil hurriedly rolled the condom onto his length as Melinda moaned. “What happened to not starting without me?” He asked, joining her on the bed and looming over her, his hand winding around her waist and holding her back up.

“You took too long.” She said, fingers still teasing herself languidly.

He took her hand away from herself, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he sucked her fingers clean, making her moan. “Good thing we still have a few more days in isolation. I want more of a taste of you.” He said, pinning her hands gently with one of his own. He wrapped a hand around his cock and positioned himself at her entrance, sliding deep into her warmth.

The two of them savored the moment as they adjusted to one another, eyes remaining locked. Phil couldn’t have imagined a more intimate moment – they were both emotionally raw, completely open, trusting each other with so much. She was hot and tight and wet around him, even through the latex of the condom he could feel her heat. She needed a minute to adjust, getting used to him inside her and finding just the right angle. When Melinda’s eyes fluttered softly, Phil knew they could both handle more and he pulled out of her, using his grip on her waist to hold her as he moved. Her mouth hung open and he knew what she felt immediately, as he could barely handle the insane amount of pleasure. It built just below his stomach, making him whimper every time he left the tight clutch of her body.

“Phil… Please, harder.” Melinda moaned, her head falling back and giving him better access to her neck. He increased his thrusts – this angle made it hard to go fast, but he was quickly finding that long, hard thrusts that had him returning home were both of their preference.

Burying his lips against her neck, Phil cursed, increasing his pace as Melinda’s hips began to snap against his at every thrust, both of them careening closer. “Ah… Ah, fuck.” He moaned, barely hanging on and desperate to see her reach her orgasm before he fell apart. Fingers slipping between the two of them, he rubbed at her clit, balls slapping against her feeling just how wet the space between them was. Just as he thought he was going to fall apart, too caught up in love and lust for her, Melinda cried out, and he was barely able to make out his own name as she tightened around him and came.

A handful of thrusts into her and a long groan had him following her, hips shaking and head spinning in pleasure. Phil’s back dripped with sweat, and Melinda’s hair stuck to her face. There was a beauty to their messy, energetic and unsteady sex. The sheets tangled around his feet and he rested his head on Melinda breast, the rest of him beside her on the sheets. “SHIELD handbook, page 22, paragraph 3.” Melinda said to him, once she was able to speak properly. Her voice was a raspy, panting sound that had him twitching for more.

Phil looked up at her, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as to why she was reciting something they’d learned way back into their academy days. “Quarantine Warnings. Agents, isolated together, are liable to have intense reactions to their time together. Prepare accordingly.” She recited perfectly from memory. He laughed, his grin reaching his eyes as he pulled her in for a kiss. Intense, indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought we all could use a little tease as to what Philinda might experience if they were quarantined together! I'm currently safe (though desperately missing school) and doing a lot of baking to make it through the quarantine. I hope you all stay healthy and happy, please remember to keep washing your hands and maintain social distancing - it's what Philinda would do! ;) 
> 
> Position used (as I'm not sure if it's clear through the writing or not) is called 'London Bridge'. Nothing too fancy but it's something I personally HC would be a favorite position for our agents.


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